


Yearnings

by for_autumn_i_am



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Bittersweet, Dry Humping, M/M, Mutual Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Tumblr Prompt, guided masturbation, pillow humping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 19:30:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14837808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/for_autumn_i_am/pseuds/for_autumn_i_am
Summary: Hux and Ren want the only thing they can't have: each other. A collection of ficlets and prompt fills with the common theme of yearning.





	1. Feast on this Ass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ficlet #1: canonverse, pre-TFA, 600 words, rated M for rimming; a fill for the Kylux Cantina prompt ["feast on this ass"](http://longstoryshortikilledhim.tumblr.com/post/173418493251/feast-on-this-ass)

“Feast on this ass,” Hux says. It shouldn’t steal Kylo’s breath away, and yet. Hux has this habit to use archaic words in his presence; he thinks of him as something of the past, with his obsolete weapon and outdated beliefs, and it’s arousing him endlessly. Kylo can sense it, sense his whiny need to be claimed by history.

He’s bent over Kylo’s kitchen counter. The jodphurs are pooling around his ankles, the hem of his tunic hardly covering the enticing curve of his little ass. It looks like a juicy fruit begging to be bitten.

“What makes you think I’m hungry?” Kylo asks, almost drawls; spends his sweet time with the vowels to make Hux’s confidence waver. A blush spreads over his ass.  _There you are._

“Why else did you invite me here?” Hux says. He peeks over his raised shoulder. He looks murderous. It suits him.

Kylo indicates the tray with portions Hux upset by tossing himself onto the counter the minute he walked in. “I thought you could join me for dinner.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hux hisses, and rolls onto his side, legs entangled in his pants, cock curling up to his soft belly. He puts his chin up, attempts to look dignified. It’s adorable. “You won’t start trying  to wine and dine me, Ren, will you? You should know that I appreciate efficiency above all things. If we’re to fuck, let’s just fuck.” He over-exaggerates the F-s. Kylo never found out if it’s some lingering accent or the evidence of a formal speech impairment. Both would be endlessly entertaining. He’d never stop teasing Hux about it.

He draws closer. He’s not wearing the mask, but he’s fully dressed, lightsaber at his belt. Hux glances at it before he ogles Kylo’s crotch to see if he’s affected. Typical. “It gets lonely,” Kylo says, “eating alone.”

Hux makes an appalled face, just as Kylo intended. Naked emotions disarm him. Make him sweat. Kylo places a hand on his exposed hip, and squeezes.

“You’re in an odd mood,” Hux says, dropping his voice to a whisper. Kylo lets his hand drift lower. Watches how Hux’s breath catches. They’ve been playing this game for a few months now. They should stop. The problem is that both of them are satisfied with the results. Both of them thinks they’re the one winning; Hux is gleaming as Kylo manhandles him to his back, makes him spread his legs.

“Show me,” he says. Hux reaches down, not looking away from him. Tries to make him keep the eye contact as he spreads himself open. His eyes are a dreamy green in the low light. Kylo shouldn’t take notice of what colour his eyes are, or how the thrill of sex rolls off of him in waves, how his teeth glint between his parted lips; he should be looking at what’s between his legs. That’s all what it’s supposed to be about.

“I’ve prepared,” Hux says. His puffy hole is open, glistening. Needy little thing. Fucked himself ready before coming here. Taking it away from Kylo, his first orgasm for the cycle.

Kylo makes a non-committal sound, puts his thumb to the entrance. His gloves are still on. He pushes in, making Hux gasp. He’s so into it already. It’s such a power-trip to him. “What flavour?” Kylo asks.

“Vanilla,” Hux says.

Kylo inclines his head. “You remembered,” he croons, cold.

“I guessed.”

Now that Hux is properly flustered, Kylo gets down to his knees; now that it doesn’t feel like submitting. Hux keeping track of his preferences can be framed as a weakness, but it’s clever, clever–it’s Hux’s best gamble, making Kylo attached, making him care.

Fat chance. When the day comes he’ll be tossed aside. When the day comes Kylo will be strong enough not to look twice. For now, he opens his mouth, flicks his tongue out. Gets a taste. It’s just a bit too sweet to be bearable.


	2. Soft Solutions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ficlet#2: Soft Solutions is a college AU fic with guided dry humping, a prompt fill to Furihoesa's [Kyluxhardkink ask:](http://longstoryshortikilledhim.tumblr.com/post/174533602336/that-pillow-humping-prompt-has-cleared-my-skin)
> 
> _Pillowcases of all sorts. Silk, satin, high-end cotton, nice linen. Hux teasing Kylo by letting Kylo hump one of Hux's nice pillows but not letting Kylo hold onto it; Hux holds it and decides how much pressure will be applied and when._

“Am I interrupting something?” Hux asks.

Ren has the decency to look slightly embarrassed, if not ashamed as he should be. Fucking your roommate’s state-of-the-art pillows is not considered polite or right in any society. Ren should really know better than to greet him like this, dick out and leaking all over the silk, stupid football shirt clinging to his sweaty back. He must have been really having a go at it.

“I was horny,” he explains. His flagging cock twitches, maybe as a reminder that he still is.

“Horny,” Hux repeats, setting down his messenger bag at last. His biomolecular feedback system class finished early; the professor had a conference to attend. Hux commuted home with the high hopes of a nap. Unless he demands a place in Ren’s bed, that won’t be happening—and since Ren is pretentious enough to sleep in a hammock, all his dreams are crushed now.

“You weren’t here,” Ren says as Hux lowers himself into his trusty chair by the bed. Maybe he could sleep in it. It’s cushioned. Comfy. He tries wriggling around in it a bit, see how he likes it while trying to comprehend what the hell is up with Ren. Sure, they have exchanged handjobs in the past. Hux might’ve blown him once or twice. Ren had returned the favour on his birthday. But it wasn’t a  _thing_. It was something they just did. Hux doesn’t even think of Ren as a friend with benefits; they aren’t exactly chummy, fighting all the time, screaming and (in Ren’s case) wrecking furniture.

At least he has a soft spot for Hux’s pillows. Apparently. Hux eyes him lazily. His ass in on display; it’s a nice ass, round, muscular, but with just enough fat to jiggle as Ren thrust forward.

“What are you doing?” Hux asks tonelessly, chin propped up. Ren lets his cock slide over the smooth silk again.

“I didn’t get off yet,” he says.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get off humping my fifty pounds pillow.”

“It’s not my fault you waste your money.”

How typical of Ren to talk about wasting money, with his rich family and sports scholarship. He could very well afford to buy his own fucking pillows, or even some proper sextoys. He teased Hux once for finding his anal beads in the dishwasher, and even made a comment on the dildo he had left out to dry. Infuriated by this new display of smug arrogance, Hux reaches out, and tugs at the pillow. What he accomplishes is giving some delicious and absolutely undeserved friction to Ren’s needlessly huge, too-thick cock, who moans, head thrown back.

“Okay,” Hux huffs, getting to his feet. “Let’s play.”

“Fuck yeah,” Ren says as Hux kneels on the mattress. All his hard-earned pillows are thrown around, satin, linen, high-end cotton, waiting for their fate. Hux gets hold of the silk one between Kylo’s trembling thighs, and pulls it away.

“What was your fucking plan?” he hisses, robbing Ren’s cock of pressure. “Get your come all over my bed and pray that I wouldn’t notice?” He sneers. “God, you get off on the thought that I’d sleep in your filth, don’t you?”  

Ren’s cock twitches again.

“I was going to wash it,” he says. “I’m going to—Please, can I continue? I’m so close, I’m—”

“Will wonders never cease, you can _ask_ for things.” Hux teases the pillow over Ren’s shaft; he mewls. “Communicate.” With that, Hux puts it over Ren’s cock, forcing it down to the mattress. Ren’s eyes roll back, but Hux pulls away the pillow again.

“Please, Hux, please—” he begs. He looks so pretty like this. He always looks so pretty. It’s unfair, but good for Hux’s mental wankbank. He’s built like two and a half pornstars. His mouth is obscene. He sounds how brandy tastes. His eyes are burning as he looks at Hux, pleading. They’re gold in the afternoon light. He reeks of sex. His hair is perfect.

Wordlessly, Hux presses the pillow down again, making a plush little tunnel for Ren’s cock he can fuck into. He has that ridiculous jackhammering technique, too fast, too hard; it’d make Hux laugh if he was the one being fucked. It’s his pillow. He’s not jealous.

Ren keeps eye-contact. It’s too intense. Hux could kiss him to make him close those ridiculous lashes, but kissing Ren is never a good idea. He opts for massaging him through the pillow, varying the pressure, watch his face contort with pleasure.  

“That’s it,” he whispers.

Ren pants, open-mouthed, salviating for more; his gaze drops as he keeps rutting, eyeing the front of Hux’ trousers. He’s a fool if he thinks Hux will let him anywhere near his erection. He can take care of it on his own. He doesn’t even need to sneak into his flatmate’s room and shag his pillows.

“Can I come?” Ren asks. He should say no to that. Doing the laundry will be a bitch. Maybe Ren could do it. Still: he doesn’t deserve this, he shouldn’t be  _encouraged_ —

“Come for me,” Hux whispers. Ren whines, teeth gritted, and soils the fucking bed. Hux realises, defeated, that he’ll remember this moment. He’ll wank to the memory. He’s lucky he didn’t come untouched watching Ren make that bloody O-face, and moan and heave and swoon in for a kiss.

Hux doesn’t part his lips.

“Clean it up,” he says. Ren licks at his lips, then looks around for tissues, dazed. Hux regrets not kissing that slack mouth. He shouldn’t, he shouldn’t— “With your tongue,” he specifies. Ren’s eyes round. Oh, he’s enjoying it. He’s enjoying every kinky shit Hux throws at him.

He makes a show of it, gets to his hands and knees, noses the pillow away instead of putting it aside. God, that nose. One of these days Hux will have it—somewhere, in his mouth, in his arse, doesn’t matter. That nose needs to be worshipped. Hus just hasn’t found a way yet to make it sound casual.

Ren looks at him as he eats up his come, sucking it from the fabric, letting it run down his chin—deliberately messy, as if he knew Hux likes it like this. Hux is afraid he can see right through him, can tell that he’s affected, corrupted, that he’d let Ren fuck all his pillows and his arse if he only  _asked_.

“Thank you, Hux,” Ren says, dangerously melodious. He puts his forehead to Hux’s knee, and Hux must resist the urge to pet his hair. He looks at his arse instead, still bared. He could have so much fun with it. If only, if only. “Thank you, thank you,” Ren keeps repeating. Maybe they’re past the point of saving. Maybe a line has been crossed.

“Can I ask what made you so attracted to my bed?” Hux says, fearful of the answer. Ren looks at him, awed, blissed.

“It smells like you,” he says.

Yeah, right.

They’re doomed.


	3. A Collection of Reflections

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ficlet#3: A Collection of Reflections - canon-compliant, Hux's lifestory, rated T, 643 words. Written for the Kylux Cantina prompt [muddy puddles after a storm](http://longstoryshortikilledhim.tumblr.com/post/158861343076/springtime-prompt-muddy-puddles-after-a-storm)

His father, through gritted teeth: “what were you thinking,” and yanking him out of the puddle. Patches of dirt are clinging to his pressed trousers, and he can feel cold water between his toes, inside his socks, chilling and exciting. He musn’t smile but his heart shines, he feels it expanding inside his hollow chest, bursting it open. Joy always feels like it could break him.

The next time it happens it’s a deliberate accident. He trods through the puddle, and his father is not there to reprimand him. The chilling wetness of the mushy mud is unlike anything in space. At age seven, he has a severe dislike of planets, of their stink and noise and alien suns which burn his delicate skin. He puts his inhaler to his lips to ease his wheezing, lungs filled and cleared with filtered air. He stands in the middle of the puddle, breathing, eyes closed.

At his father’s funeral he has the idea to drop to his knees in the mud. Wouldn’t that be appropiately melodramatic? He can feel eyes on him, he knows that people are noting that he’s not crying. He’s thirteen, he wouldn’t be seen as weak. His mind is turning around the matter, rolling slowly as the mud seeps into his battered boots, lazy and oddly comforting.

Bootcamp on this planet or that, all of them interchangeably horrible, and crawling in the dirt, crawling on his hands and knees as he’s fleeing an imagined enemy, teeth gritted. It’s a simulation program, but the scenery is real, and Hux thinks that no one could fake it, how disgusting it all is, turning his stomach and making him daydream about the two minute sonic he’ll be allowed to have if he succeeds.

Drifting through an infinite vacuum, he can’t quite grasp the concept of seasons: they’re barred of significance. If he would come upon a puddle of warm water left by sping showers, of the rich earth it upturned, he’d just check his reflection in it. He does that often. He wonders whether he looks like the person he fancies himself to be.

Melted ice on Starkiller, forming a puddle. He frowns and sidesteps it. Perhabs this is the man he grew up to be.    

“Stop it,” he snaps, and there’s a loud splash. Ren grins at him, teeth crooked and eyes softer than they should be, and jumps into the next puddle, and the next, stepping into each and every one of them on their way to check on the troops stranded on the planet. His dirty robes swirl around and his hair bounces above his shoulders, he’s dancing some crazy little dance just to annoy Hux; of that, Hux is certain. They’ve been acquinted for three years, and Hux is envious of Ren’s obscene freedom and his unabashed display of it. Ren is just an attack dog on a long leash: let him have his fun before he’s put down.

“Will you be okay?” Kylo asks Hux, lying on the ground, eyes closed as rain spatters over them, mud bubbling up. Hux rolls to his side; he shouldn’t do that, he’s injured, and he caresses Kylo’s face, marking him his own, making him wear his fingerprints like signs of shame and defeat. Kylo catches his lips with his, and Hux tastes spring flowing into him. He should’ve watched his steps with Kylo Ren. Somewhere along the way, they stumbled.

Hux is wondering about the future out of his reach: mud on his forehead like ointment, his subjects crying praise as he rises to his feet. He thinks of simpler destinies, of the tapping of rain on a roof as Kylo is rocking into him. One image sticks: hand in hand, chasing the roll of thunder. Barefeet, for the first time ever. And the mud, as they run and run and laugh.  


	4. The General Dances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ficlet#4, The General Dances. Canonverse, pre-TFA, rated teen. A fill for the [Kylux Cantina prompt](http://longstoryshortikilledhim.tumblr.com/post/160664344376/hux-has-a-good-ear-and-knows-some-dance-moves-but) prompt "Hux has a good ear and knows some dance moves. But only when he's drunk."

It was the way he moved, like he was making love to the music. Kylo couldn’t take his eyes off him.

It happened every time Hux got drunk and a song was playing somewhere, which meant every gala and fundraiser and odd holiday in the Outer Rims. The music there was jarring, dangerous, and infinitely seductive, so unlike the refined tunes of the Republic and the upbeat hits Kylo was subjected to back when he was somebody else.

He watched Hux run a gloved hand over his hair, grab it and flash his neck as he threw his head back. He watched how his slim hips swayed, he watched him unclasp his collar and breathe in the night.

And every time, every single time, he’d escort Hux back to his quaters while Hux was still drunk on wine and song, stepping in-sync with silent rolls of drums, waltzing through the corridors, and Kylo would take his hand and lead him to the bed, resisting the invitation of Hux’s low humming, how his hands were pulling him into an embrace from which there’d be no escape. He’d watch Hux pout, “you don’t know how to have fun.” He’d cover his eyes with his hand and send him to sleep with the Force, and make him forget.

And then all was back to normal and disappointing, Hux as pristine and professional as ever, uptight and tight-laced. It’d have been easy to hate him, but Kylo would catch his feet tapping during a conference or a meeting, hear a song in his mind, clean and loud, eavesdrop on haunting symphonies as they watched how speed blurred out the bright stars.

One of these days, they’d share the wine and the music, they’d dance and sober up and kiss and fuck, do something which makes a war worth winning and a life worth living, but not yet; they still had time - one year, two years, three, four, five.

And counting.


	5. Alarm Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ficlet#5, "Alarm Call." Canonverse, a short pre-TFA ficlet, rated M. Injuries are described.

The pain was acceptable. There was a sharpness to it which Kylo started to grow fond of. The Force told him he wasn’t dying. Darkness oozed out with his blood (so much blood) and he was at peace. Or maybe he was just delirious with agony. That was a possibility.

He saw Hux entering the tent as he was lying there on the ground. He was probably imagining him; Hux would have no business on this forsaken little moon with its thick, red air, yawning shadows and recently slaughtered population.

“Ah,” Hux said, provided he was there. “You’ve fractured your femur.”

“I did not,” Ren replied, and his voice sounded weird to his own ears. His helmet was tossed to the pile of his soaked cloak, dirtied and burnt in battle.

“I can literally see your bone peeking out from your wound,” Hux noted. He didn’t sound angry. His expression was blank, permanent sneer gone, and his mind was the same soft susurration as always. Kylo couldn’t read him without pulling, pushing,  _hurting_.

“I didn’t fracture it, someone else fractured it for me,” Kylo corrected. 

Hux came closer, the flaps of the tent behind him beating like great wings. His eyes seemed to be a burning silver in the rusty hue of the wasted moon. He was carrying a duffle bag which he dropped by Kylo as he crouched down to inspect him, head tilted. Kylo noticed that his hair was sort of damp and tousled, and that up close, he had freckles.

“Coming from planetside, huh?”

“I was on shore leave,” Hux confirmed, pulling out a medpac from his bag containing several changes of civilian clothes and a sniper rifle.

“Why did you come, then?”

“Well, why am I your emergency contact?” Hux activated the medisensor, and scanned the wound on Kylo’s thigh. The sneer was back.

“I don’t know why you were called,” Kylo said, wriggling a little, which was a bad idea. “It’s not an emergency.”

“The scan says you’re in anguish.”

“It’s lying.”

“It’s not the exact wording.” Hux put away the sensor. He bit his lips, considering something. Kylo hated when he did that, but it came with an odd sort of excitement. It made Hux look human, capable of being worried or baffled like mere mortals.  “I’m giving you a stim-shot,” he announced, and there was that abhorrent professionalism again. Kylo frowned.

“Can’t you just take me to our medbay or something?”

“Why, you can walk?” Hux snapped, and they stared at each other. With calculated casualness, Kylo shrugged, which had Hux exhaling very slowly. Kylo wished he’d yell more often, make a show of his anger instead of constantly being disappointed.

They’ve been working together for a year. Kylo reckoned that they’d be sworn enemies within another year, or fucking each other’s brains out on every flat surface. Either option seemed equally pleasant and palpable.

Hux turned to administer the shot. He had a nice profile. More than that, he was handsome, which was decidedly unfair. Kylo watched the slope of his nose, his full lips, round chin. He didn’t deserve to be a general. He was a poster boy, nothing more.

“You should change your contact,” Hux said, popping a bottle of bacta open. Kylo blinked.

“My what?”

“Your emergency contact,” Hux explained. “If you’re in an emergency, I’m likely to be compromised as well.” He pulled off his gloves, and Kylo snorted.

“I’m likely to be injured on a battlefield with a death-toll over a hundred; you’re likely to walk into a wall because you’re buried in your datapad. Don’t compare us. Ever.”

Hux looked at him, unimpressed, and spread the bacta between his clever fingers. Kylo’s cock twitched. The situation was so close to being perfect. Hux’s surface emotions were bleeding into something crimson.

“If you value me so little, why is your tracking device on auto-alert to call me, of all people?” Hux’s touch was gentle. His lower lip trembled.

“There’s no other people,” Kylo told him.

“I’m your only personal acquaintance?” Hux asked with a mocking tilt in his voice.

All Kylo grit out was, “Yes.”

Hux was dumbfounded, eyes round and lips parted. It was only for a glorious second, but Kylo basked in it, and felt his cock swelling further, getting hard on Hux’s confusion. The man cleared his throat, and noted,“That’s unfortunate.”

Kylo grinned. “It’s what I always wanted. Alone at last, huh?”

Hux glanced at him. He looked sorry for him. His mind whispered something far worse: pity.

“I’m applying the spray-bandages,” he said. He laid his hand over Kylo’s knee to steady him, which was terribly unnecessary. Kylo recoiled from his touch: he needed it somewhere else at the moment, preferably between his thighs, but then again, he didn’t want it anywhere with Hux looking at him like that. Sad, sad, sadder.

“Call in the troopers once you’re finished,” Kylo told him, closing his eyes. The red brilliance of the moon shone through his eyelids. Hux’s hand on his knee was burning. “You won’t be able to carry me to the ship yourself, your scrawny arms would fall off.”

“Why must you be like this,” Hux mumbled, and Kylo thought that once he figured out the answer, everything would be different.

Hux withdrew his hand, and Kylo immediately wanted it back.


End file.
